Strange Hunger

She had found herself floating on a cloud of unreality, half-in and half-out of her body. At some point she vomited into the toilet, and it had felt like the last pieces of her girlhood sloughing away.

Eventually she had gotten up and left. Her friends tried to stop her, but something in her eyes quelled them. She had walked home - not a short walk by any means, but the time had passed as if it was nothing - and had realized almost matter-of-factly as she saw the little family bungalow with the wrecks Daddy salvaged for parts mouldering in the front yard that it wasn't home anymore. That she couldn't stay.

As she'd walked in, Daddy had come at her, already pulling off his belt as he demanded to know where she'd been and where her brother was and yammered about curfews and his-roof-his-rules. Then Hanna had looked at him. Her forty-yard stare stopped him dead in his tracks and dried up his words. He had gone pale, and he'd stopped pulling off his belt, and for the first time in her life he had turned and walked away. Fleeing out to the yard to tinker with his cars and pretend nothing had happened. There should have been some sense of triumph at that, maybe, but there was nothing.

Hanna had gone to her room and packed a bag. She didn't look at Chris' room as she passed it, either coming or going. As she walked to the front door, her mother had intercepted her. Mom's soft features still had echoes of her youthful prettiness, Hanna noticed abstractly, and her eyes were shining with tears. Those eyes were grey like her daughter's eyes... and like her son's.

Mom had to have known that something unutterably terrible had happened to her little girl, but like always she seemed unable to summon any real response. There were no words of comfort or questioning. As ever, she was unequal to the occasion, and maybe Hanna should have resented that but there was nothing. She and her daughter just stared at each other for a while and then Mom had hugged her as Hanna stood stiffly in her arms, and pressed a wad of bills into her palm.

She took the bills wordlessly and left, her mother's loud, wracking sobs sounding faint behind her as the door swung shut on them. Hanna had made for the nearest bus station, and bought a ticket for the first destination that came up on the schedule. She hardly even cared where it was, as long as she was gone. Here, there was nothing, and she only had the vague sense that she had to get to some kind of place or state where she would feel something again.

* * *

It was during life on the road when the hunger started to come for her. It was a yearning, a compulsion so powerful that it could turn her into a burning fiend, that it could drive her to almost anything. She recognized it as an echo of what she'd felt after seeing her brother's hard-on and the dreadful shame in his eyes that night in the squat - and as a need to replicate that same ecstasy she had felt when he had bathed her in his drunken breath and called her a slut and rammed his gorgeous prick deep into her.

She tried all sorts of different ways to allay it, or avoid it, or to suppress it, and finally to address it. The first at-bat went to substances.

She tried medicating it with booze first, then with pills. Went a little wild on that front for a while, even contemplated trying heroin except that something about needles put a deep fear in her. Cocaine numbed the yearning some but didn't drive it away entirely, though she quickly found that with that bright, brittle, jittery high in her bloodstream she had the gift of gab and a confidence that allowed her to move freely and feel invincible, to approach almost anyone and ask them for almost anything, which came in handy in its own way and became a regular part of her coping toolkit. Time to move on to hook-ups.

Hook-ups with guys and girls as she drifted through whatever scene she could find were sweet enough, and they were welcoming for the most part. But no matter how skilled or vigorous a partner was - and it wasn't as easy to come by either of those things as she'd hoped - they only scratched the surface. When she was high enough she found the nerve to straight-up ask a couple of partners to roleplay with her or get rough with her, and it took some doing to find one who didn't recoil from the idea in horror. But by the time she found someone willing to try it - a really beautiful woman who went by Phaedra, looked like an eerie replica of Bettie Page but for her kaleidoscopic full-sleeve tattoos and did dominatrix work for a living - she learned that didn't feed the hunger either, not really, though there was still fun to be had in the way that gorgeous chick could triple-wield dirty talk, a riding crop and a studded strap-on, and she'd been the first to talk Hanna into doing a bondage-and-spanking photo shoot.

She was several cities away from home when the next logical step came. Her money dried up sufficiently that she actually tried going with guys for cash, and she got a hint of insight. No matter what they paid her, some of the punters had this aura of hangdog guilt about the act that spoke to the hunger, that touched on its core, and she found that the more listless and fragile she acted, the stronger that air of guilt became. With one of them in particular, a middle-aged stockbroker type who had fucked her in the back of his Lincoln, she had heard him give out a little pained whimper like he couldn't believe he was where he was, paying a teenaged beauty to give him her sweet, defenceless cunt: and hearing it, she'd found herself grinding back against him and cumming in wet, delicious waves that had brought him off in record time as her tight walls took hold at the root and milked the full length of him, as he shuddered and spent into the tip of the thin rubber she'd rolled onto his shaft.

That reaction was the essence of it, she'd realized then. The hunger was about them, about their belief or need to believe that they were stealing her virtue, with her too helpless to stop them. Whether they gloried in it or wept in shame, it was the tribute of that hunger in them that would really hit the spot and satisfy her craving... at least for a while. But even with Johns that was a hit-and-miss thing and she still couldn't bring herself to fuck them without protection; she'd heard too many horror stories from girls in the hostels where she stayed. And without the cum, the ultimate tribute of that culminating blast of hot sperm splattering inside her, something was still missing.

Besides, it was a dangerous profession, that, and for all the "friends" she accumulated Hanna remained basically alone, held back from trusting by some bone-deep wariness and fear of betrayal. It wasn't a business to try to work alone: the girls got competitive, sometimes violently so, and a lot of them worked for guys who were genuinely scary. One or two of those had even tried to run game on Hanna herself and might well have succeeded—some part of her, broken in the instant Chris had lunged his cock into her, did yearn for someone to protect her and free her from responsibility and take away the terrifying obligation of making decisions every day—but that her feelings about Daddies and Big Brothers were too complicated by far to let her succumb.

So she had to find another way. As fortune would have it, another piece fell into place the next city over with her first exposure to pseudo-aristocratic decadence.

Hanna found herself picked up on the local stroll in a black Mercedes by a slender, handsome middle-aged woman with proud cheekbones and glittering green eyes named Maxine, who'd looked at her with intrigue and who proved astonishingly nasty in bed. Moreover she was a wealthy woman, the kind who had a paid driver and servants and a sprawling mansion on the outskirts of town, and she got off on watching Hanna's big, beautiful ass ripple under the thrusts of her well-hung black butler while the sexy teen moaned and writhed and ate out her flavourful cunt. It was worth it, all in all: she ate better while she was staying with Maxine than she had in maybe her whole life to that point and the woman was free with supplying what she called "pharmaceuticals" into the bargain, in fact aside from her first snort of truly quality cocaine she also introduced Hanna to the wonders of the "Plan B" pill.

Maxine was also an artist and into the occult. She actually came up with the complicated design of Nordic runes and pagan deities and ritual sigils and totems that now decorated Hanna's arms and back, which she had first executed with a fine paintbrush using melted chocolate as a medium, taking shots of it with her phone before she ordered her pretty red-haired maid to languorously lick Hanna clean while packing her wet pussy with three wicked fingers. Hanna had a series of sweet orgasms rippling through her—not the searing, all-consuming climaxes that marked and fed the hunger, but sweet nevertheless—just as the woman showed the design to her, and she fell in love with it perhaps partly because of the circumstances, and maybe with Maxine a little too when the woman promised to pay a tattoo artist to make it permanent.

But the hunger had been coming on her then and she'd been feeling restless. Later that night Maxine became the first person she really told about it, and about her story, what she thought was behind it, sitting on an obscenely luxurious Corinthian leather couch and drinking large glasses of incredibly expensive red wine. Maxine had looked wise and sympathetic as she stroked Hanna's cheek. She had fed her young charge a chocolate truffle and commiserated with her.

"This world can be so unkind to those born with beauty like yours," she said. There was a hint of a fancy-sounding accent in her voice that Hanna couldn't quite place. "There's no understanding it. But I think I know of a remedy that might help you."

"Really? Mmmf." Hanna had savoured the chocolate truffle on her tongue, the burst of flavour. My God. I could get used to this. Chewed and swallowed it with relish and chased it with a swallow of wine before she asked: "What do you mean?"

"I knew a woman with similar urges, once," Maxine said. "She used to have her husband drive her to adult theatres, to sit and keep watch as he let the desperate subterranean... creatures there use her, one after another. Thirty or forty of them at a sitting." A ripple of dark delight went through Hanna just hearing that, but: "Unfortunately most such places are shuttered now. The digital age, you know. But I think we can arrange a somewhat less vulgar alternative. Do you trust me?"

No, but this is way too intriguing to say anything but: "Yes, Miss Maxine. Of course I trust you."

"Then leave everything to me, my dear. Here... have another truffle."

* * *

It turned out Maxine had an in-house print shop with a dedicated designer. It mostly produced material for the endless sequence of charity events that formed her public life, but it had other uses too. Hanna was allowed to read the invitation to the event that would mark her debut as a fully-fledged cumslut. It was printed on thick bone-coloured card-stock and the word "Orgy" dominated its front face in embossed, graceful golden lettering. That made her heart pound, the hunger coiling within her in delicious anticipation.

The event was scheduled for a Saturday night. The set-up struck her as just crazy enough to work. The basic idea was that she was Maxine's latest sex slave—(latest?!)—and that she was being punished for disobedience. She was to be shackled face-down in an elaborate set of padded irons that riveted her wrists alongside her ankles and raised her gorgeous hindquarters high for best viewing by the guests as they arrived. They were to understand, falsely, that she had been drugged into quiescence for their use and pleasure.

Maxine told her frankly that most of them would be hesitant to take advantage of her, at first. Libertines though her circle might be, the prospect of raping a drugged slave girl was rather stronger stuff than they were used to; especially since most were bringing their wives with them, and men in mixed company tended to be more reticent about this sort of thing. But she claimed to have a solution for this, and Hanna believed her.

Game on. She waited for the night to come in an agony of moist, squirming lust.

She never did see any of the guests; she only heard them. Maxine had her shackled in the drawing room as promised, and had fitted her with a sleeping mask into the bargain. Tasteful—slightly cheesy—ballroom dancing music played in the background as she lay with her ass forced high and her sex graphically exposed by the posture the restraints forced on her. Her pussy was swollen and dripping with desire, her clit almost painfully engorged, as she listened to the guests arrive and exchange mundane pleasantries. As the desultory conversations approached, she felt a glow of satisfaction as she heard a few of them break off mid-sentence as they sighted her, but none was gauche enough to actually ask their hostess about her. It was obviously understood that she would be some kind of party game.

Hanna thought back to the fateful night in the squat, the way she'd frozen when she heard her brother's voice. She did the same thing now, imitating a stone, as she heard the room fill around her. It sounded like there were almost two dozen of them; Maxine had wanted to try this with a small party first. She couldn't help but squirm as she waited, knowing the guests were getting candid flashes of her asshole and her wanton snatch in the process. The minutes that passed as she waited for the gambit to unfold were an exquisite torment.

Maxine began the party proper with nine ringing taps on the rim of a wine glass. As her guests quieted she said: "I welcome you all, my friends." And she intoned what sounded like some kind of blessing in Greek or Latin which Hanna couldn't follow. The guests all answered back like a congregation in a church, something that sounded like "agios athantos." With that formality out of the way, Maxine told them they had "freedom of the house" and that "usual rules applied," whatever that meant... and then came round to Hanna.

"My latest pet, here," she said: "Has been disobedient, ungrateful and insolent. Tonight she is being punished. She has been given a dose of," she rattled off the name of a drug that Hanna could never remember, "and you will find her very pliant and responsive, indeed quite unable to resist, protest or object to anything you might wish to use her for. I give her to you tonight, friends, in hopes that you'll help me educate her about her true place. Enjoy!" And she and her guests repeated their call-and-response ritual, and the party began.

Hearing that speech and what it implied had made a mingling of arousal and terror throb through Hanna so powerfully that she was certain her cunt had to be visibly dripping. She swallowed a whimper and held herself as still as she could. She fancied she could feel the fascinated gazes of the room turning upon her, but for what seemed like forever nobody ventured to touch her, much as Maxine had predicted. There was conversation, laughter,the sounds of wine being drunk and, soon, the sounds of sighs, kisses, caresses, zippers announcing male members being freed, the fabric whispers of expensive clothing being shed...

... and then the music suddenly cut off amid sounds of consternation. What the— Hanna had to fight the urge to crane her neck around, she couldn't see a thing anyway.

Maxine's voice rang out. "Apologies, everyone! My dear Herbert—" (this was a reference to the never-seen husband who apparently was the source of her wealth) "—has been insisting we try home solar. Wave of the future, he tells me. I suppose the future still needs some de-bugging." There were scattered chuckles at that. "I'll just convene with the technician and we'll have the lights back on as soon as possible. I'm sure you won't let it spoil your enjoyment in the meantime? I know we're all true creatures of the dark here." That drew laughter and applause as the hostess made her way out.

It was suddenly clear to Hanna what the gambit was. It was the darkness, and the sense of freedom from judgement it conferred, that would make people first feel free to touch her. Her heart pounded rapidly as that first touch came within seconds of Maxine's exit: a male hand brushed against her right buttock, stroked it... then took a big handful and began to caress it, sending a shiver through her.

Soon the first hand was joined by a second, gripping her buttocks and prising them apart, slapping them, squeezing them, releasing them only to gather them up again, glorying in the mounds of pliant young flesh. She could hear the man's harsh, rasping breaths, squirmed as his ministration made her pussy pulse with desire, until he reached underneath and she felt his thick fingers slide into her quivering love tunnel. She bit her lip as he began to ply her channel with one finger and then two, turning them sidewise to stretch her snug hole, making her shudder as her juices sluiced all over the invading digits and soaked them thoroughly.

At last the anonymous paramour could take no more. She felt him moving in behind her, felt the broad head of his hot cock at her entrance. She barely had time to brace herself before—in a delicious and dreadful echo of her traumatic first breaking—he bucked his hips and surged into her, letting out a gasp as he felt her lubricious fuckhole swallow his length... his long, thick, delightfully turgid tool hammering home as his ballsack slapped against her bursting clit.

"Nnnggghhh..." The muffled moan escaped her throat as the feeling of that sinful friction, the impact of his cockhead deep within her, brought her off hard. Her walls convulsed around the plundering shaft of man-meat as she came wetly all over it, the eager milking action of her greedy little teenaged snatch making him gasp loudly in what sounded like amazement. He pulled back almost as if the tight contractions thrilling his prick were sending some kind of shock through him, but her pussy gripped frantically as if her sex itself was pleading "don't go, please pound me again", and he growled and he hammered his full length back in, sending fresh waves of ecstasy roiling through her.

Before long he was fucking her tight cunt frantically as she ground her hips back against him, savouring every inch of every thrust until he finally grunted and gave her his hardest stroke, his prick erupting and sending bullets of spunk deep into her womb. Those spurts of cum, one after the other, made her climax intensify even further, "blindingly" she might have called it were she not already blind, her belly clenching and her walls spasming and her juices spattering out around his throbbing shaft.

As he pulled out and left Hanna's twat streaming with his jism, a fresh cock was already moving in to replace him. This one fucked his way into her young cunt without preamble - he was smaller but no less vigorous than the first - his predecessor's slimy contribution slopping out around his hard, rapid thrusts as she whimpered and writhed and felt the next wave of orgasm come surging in toward her. Oh God...

Just then she felt a hand touching her face, gripping her jaw and pulling her mouth to one side. There was another stiff, spongy prick awaiting her there, and as that demanding hand prised her mouth open she suddenly realized with a wild surge of elation that she was about to be fucked at both ends. She hadn't had much experience sucking cock at that point, but for this purpose she didn't need it; the flavourful shaft surging over her tongue was simply there to use her mouth and throat as a warm, wet cum receptacle, and as he thrust in - mercifully he wasn't large enough to gag her - she let out a little murmur of approval as she got a taste of his seaweedy pre-cum.